Blue Scrubs
by purplerainbows
Summary: You notice for the first time the amount of blood you’re greased in. His blood. NateMitchie.


**AN/ **So this is my first oneshot. It's my first Camp Rock. It's my first Nate & Mitchie. It's the first time I write like this. This is a first.

* * *

**Blue scrubs**

You run down the **white**,  
_white_ halls  
of the hospital.

You can feel the cold  
**Red**, blood  
sticking to your clothes,  
but you _keep_ going.

A woman in blue scrubs  
demands you  
to slow down,  
so she can **examine** you.

You _keep_ running.

You need to find **him**.

It's _your_ fault  
and you know it.

You notice  
for the **first time**  
the amount of blood  
you're greased in.

**His** blood.

Letting out a sob,  
you _grab_ someone  
in the arm,  
and whispers **his** name.

The mention of **him**,  
makes your voice crack  
and fresh, hot liquid _escape  
_your eyes.

You can **feel** the tears roll  
down on your _already  
_stained cheeks.

The doctor  
tells you to calm down,  
and sit down.

You tell him you **won't**  
calm down,  
_goddamnit_,  
and you push him  
out of your way.

You run in a _different_ direction,  
while you curse  
**under** your breath.

Why _didn't_ you go with him  
in the ambulance?

The question runs through your mind,  
as the answer appears  
ten feet in front of you.

You instantly **recognize  
**the brown-ish curly hair  
of your _best friend_,  
and you scream her name.

''CAITLYIN!''

_She_ turns around, and her dead eyes  
meet yours.

Not **once** do you _stop_ running,  
before you reach her,  
and then you see **him**.

Lying there  
_so_ white,  
with blood all over  
and at least  
10 doctors around **him**.

''NO!''

you scream, and _fall  
_to your knee's.

The doctor  
looks over at you,  
and then close the curtains.

''NO! NO! NO!''

**He'll** be alright,  
you tell yourself.

**He** will be… alright.

**He** is  
going to _make it_.  
**He** always does.

Still,  
your tears won't  
stop falling  
_down._

You feel **someone**  
pull you up,  
but you _struggle_ against  
the grip.

''No.''

you whisper again.

''Mitchie.''

**his** best friend tells you  
and you can hear his voice  
_crack._

''No.''

you turn around.

''No, no, no!''

you start **punching  
**his chest.

He tries to  
_embrace_ you,  
but you keep punching  
and **screaming**.

Eventually,  
_you give in  
_and you let him hug you.

His salty tears lands  
on your shoulder, and **yours  
**on his.

You see your_ best friend_ stand  
alone,  
her back to you.

Her eyes are **glued**  
to the curtains,  
and you know _she hopes_  
he'll walk out of there  
**perfectly **healthy.

_She_ quickly glares at you  
over her shoulder.

**She** blames you.

_Everyone _does.

It was,  
after all,  
your **fault**.

You see _her_ hand  
grip her necklace,  
where you know  
the** ring** _he_ gave her  
dangles from.

Her wedding ring.

You catch a **glimpse**  
of it, and your _heart_  
aches.

You know **he's** married,  
and you know _she's  
_your best friend.  
But you can't control  
yourself.

You love **him**.

You know **he's** your  
boyfriends _best friend.  
_But it wasn't like  
you did it on  
purpose.

You just… love **him**.

And **he** loves  
you.

It gets _too  
_much. You break out of  
the grip, and you run  
into **his** room.

You can feel _her_ stare  
burn holes in your head, but you  
ignore it.

When you reach **him**,  
you push the doctors  
out of the way  
and _strangely_ enough  
they don't object.

**He's** pale.  
**He** normally is,  
but now.

_Ghost._

The blood is turning brown,  
and it makes you  
**sick** to your  
_stomach_.

You think **he** looks like  
an _angel_.  
For a moment you wonder  
if he really is.

The **steady** beat of the monitor  
next to him  
tells you  
_differently_.

So it is a  
**happy **ending  
after all,  
you _think_.

But not for you.

You **know** that.

You _lean_ your head down  
to **his**  
and kiss him softly.

''I love you.''

you cry,  
and watches as your _tears_  
hit **his** cheek.

''I,  
Mitchie Torres,  
love you,  
Nate Black,  
with all my heart.''

you _whisper_ and press your lips  
to **his**,  
one _last _time,  
before you turn around  
and begin to run.

You run down the **white**,  
_white_ halls  
of the hospital.

You can feel the cold  
**Red**, blood  
sticking to your clothes,  
but you _keep_ going.

A woman in blue scrubs  
demands you  
to slow down,  
so she can **examine** you.

You _keep_ running.

You lost **him**.

* * *

**AN/ **So, did it absolutely suck? Was it absolutely horrible? -_-


End file.
